


The Future is Bright

by nine_day_queen



Category: The Flash (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nine_day_queen/pseuds/nine_day_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris West is nothing if not a realist. That is the way she's been raised, forged, really because her childhood wasn't as happy as it could have been.<br/>However, she believes in her best friend, Barry. Barry, who studied science and believes in the impossible.<br/>Barry, who is sleeping beside her, in the same bed, their bed.<br/>Iris West is nothing if not a realist. But even this is pushing it ... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future is Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Based on: http://charmingciscolance.tumblr.com/post/117739156607
> 
> It's terribly rushed and I wish I could do the idea justice, but I tried???

_Dad, please, you have to stay awake, please. **Her hands are shaking, they're shaking so bad, as she tries to ... her white shirt is soaking and turning dark red.**_

_Iris, honey ... **He coughs and there's so much blood, his teeth are stained in blood. God, where's Barry? Where's Eddie? Where's the ambulance?**_

_Dad, please don’t do this to me. Please don’t. You promised, Dad. Please, you promised. **God, I didn't even really survive Mom, how can I survive Dad?**_

_Iris … **Barry, she thinks, vaguely, confused. Where is he? Why isn't he saving her father, their father? WHY IS HE NOT HELPING HER?**_

_Barry! Barry, you need to hurry up and … Barry, he’s not … oh god, Barry._

_Iris? Iris! Where are … Iris!_

_Barry, please! Hurry!_

* * *

 

Iris jolts awake, sitting up immediately. The other side of the bed dips as ... she turns. Barry smiles at her sleepily. “Bad dream?”

“I …” she stammers, hands gripping her grandmother’s quilt. “I think so,” she ventures.

Barry nods, but it turns into him nodding off. Instantly, he jumps again. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“No,” she almost shouts. No, because she can still feel the blood, thick and warm, sluggishly spilling into her palms. She can still hear herself beg her father to stay with her, to stay here, to stay alive.

“Do you want me to ... do you need company?”

She stares at him, the dark circles under his eyes and the half yawn he covers. “No, I’ll live if you go back to sleep,” she murmurs, already pulling herself out of the cocoon of blankets.

“So ... is it cool if I …” he waves absentmindedly towards the bed, his hand still caught in the sheets, the sheets under her grandmother’s quilt.

Even when she lies and tells him not to worry, he’s still worried about her. Even when she assures him she’ll be fine, he’s still willing to stay up and help her chase away her demons. Even half dead on his feet, Barry still puts her first.

           Iris understands it, the need to put the other first. She'd put Barry first, if he needed it. God, so many times, she’d put him first. It wasn’t even out of some weird sense of … family. She always felt better, knowing he was happy. She was always better with him.

But right now, he needs sleep, so she nods. “Yeah, I'm going to make myself some coffee. Go back to sleep.”

He leans forward, falling on her pillow, which she assumes wasn’t his plan. “Love you, Mrs. West-Allen,” he mumbles from the pillow.

She freezes but he's already snoring.

_Mrs. West-Allen._

           Immediately, her eyes go for her hands, searching. The ring on her finger almost prompts another scream. _Almost_. But it's her mother's ring, really. It's not a replica, she just _knows_ it's not. It's the real deal. God, all these years, she had it all along. Or well, Barry had it all along.

No.

Wait.

That doesn't make sense.

* * *

 

The door creaks.

“Daddy?” Iris whispers into the darkness.

In a blink of an eye, her father is up. A throwback from the cop life, she assumes. “Baby, what's wrong?” he demands, already pushing the covers off him.

“I …”

“Do you want some cocoa?” he asks, thinking of their patented West Nightmare Traditions. She nods, knowing he won’t see it, but still shuffle out to meet her.

When he reaches the hallway's light, she sees it. He's old. Not to say she didn't know ... she ... his hair is completely gray.

“Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, tugging her back into the tiny hall, to the kitchen.

Another piece of the puzzle. This _isn't_ her world, her place.

 

At least her dad is alive, here.

 

He sets down her mug inches from her.

“Thanks,” she smiles fondly. “Really.”

Joe sits across from her. “Is it me?” She stares at him. “Am I making things awkward? I told you, newlyweds do not house their in-laws.”

“Dad, Barry wouldn't want to kick you out and I am not letting you go.” She's surprised at how truthful the words are, given she can't speak for this ... this Iris. “I’d miss you too much.”

His face relaxes. “Then it's the job offer.”

“No?”

“Iris, he loves you. Besides, he's The Flash.”

           Her heart skips a beat when he says it, as if it were a fact, another fact. The sky is blue and Barry is The Flash. Iris West is a reporter and Barry Allen is a metahuman hero. Iris West loves brownies and Barry is The Flash. Iris West-Allen is married to Barry Allen. Barry Allen is married to Iris West-Allen and he’s The Flash.

           And, maybe, just maybe, it is another fact, another constant. She wouldn't know. Her Barry never told her. She never once saw it (there were so many signs), that her Bear could have been a vigilante. No, not once did she think he could have been the hope for their city, the streak.

           It’s not because she doesn’t believe in him. It’s that she never thought he would put himself in danger, willingly, again. It’s not her Bear because Barry Allen would never deliberately cause Iris West pain, heartache. It’s not him, not her Barry, because he would have told her first. Her Barry would have told her, _could_ have told her. This proves it, that he could have said.

But he didn't.

“You know he’d visit you as often as he could,” her father continues, as Iris has her internal crisis. “He’d never leave,” he jokes.

She shakes away the thoughts, boxes them away for later. “No, it’s not the job, Dad.”

He gives her a look, one that makes her squirm. Did he ever find out about her turning down that Daily Planet internship, way back when Barry was in his coma? “So you'll take the job?”

“I ... I don't know,” she evades. “I’m … I’m still thinking about it.”

“Sweetie, it's not always Lois Lane wants you on her team.” She swallows the hope, the pride, the swell of happiness. God, Lois Lane still, still, wanted her in the Daily Planet. “But you already knew that.”

“Dad …” she starts, realizing he knew about the internship. “I can explain.”

“Or maybe it's the pregnancy test?”

“ _WHAT_?” she shrieks, before clamping a hand over her mouth, mindful of Barry.

Joe narrows his eyes. “I knew it.”

“What? Dad? What …?”

“You’re pregnant. I knew it.”

“Dad, I’m not … that’s not … I haven’t even … I don’t _have_ a pregnancy test.”

He snorts. “Yeah. It’s too soon, anyways.”

“Not if we’re married,” she offers. Because that’s a thing. They’re married. She, Iris West, is married to Barry Allen.

“Gunshot wedding,” her dad quips, grinning widely.

“ _DAD_ ,” she groans.

He laughs again. “All right, all right. What’s wrong, then?”

The words are there.

They’re on the tip of her tongue.

“I still can’t believe it,” she says, chickening out.

His hand covers her. “That boy loves you, Iris. You love him. You believe in that, don’t you?”

She pauses.

           Does she? If he kept this secret, this one truth from her, did he really care about her? Not just a secret, a secret life, a _universe_ of secrets. He lied to her, he probably did it to keep her safe, or try to keep her safe. He did it to keep her in the light, to stop the world from darkening her skies. He did it so Iris would never feel what did, the pain, the hurt.

           But did she really believe in that? Did she believe love was the end-all, be-all she used to think it was? Did she really believe he loved her? She loved him, he loved her. It was as simple, and complicated, as that. Iris West loves Barry Allen. Barry Allen loves Iris West. But was it enough? Did she believe that it _could_ be enough? Enough to get them past the lying?

“I do,” she finds herself replying, truthfully. “I do believe in that, Dad. I do.”

“You already said that, two months ago,” her father teases. “No need for an encore.”

“Dad.”

           He grins up at her and she can see him, really see him. He looks like he did when she was helping him teach Barry how to punch. She can see the man who glared at her when they took his car out for a joyride, Barry still in his pjs, but awake enough to trail Iris. She can see the remnants of his fond exasperation, the same look he wore at the lake, on their prom night, both of them soaked to the bone, the stolen bike sinking behind them, a fish in Barry's pants. She can see the pride in his eyes, from when he dropped them off at their respective colleges. Iris can see a lifetime's worth of good memories. And she wants to keep that. She wants her father happy, carefree.

 _Alive_.

He deserves that much, at least.

“Iris?”

“Yeah?”

“Universe has a way of making things happen. But you’re happy, right?”

           She looks down at their clasped hands, where she’s set her hand over his. She looks at the way her mother's ring shines, even now, in the dim light of the kitchen.The ring alone makes her feel like ... she wonders how he did it, got it, wonders if he _knows_ how much it means to her.

           She thinks about the bed she woke up in, her grandmother's quilt tossed over them, Barry safe at her side, the house feeling ... like home. It was a home again, thanks again, to Barry. It’s … it’s how she knew, instantly, post nightmare, that she was safe. She thinks about how she feels like she's bursting with pride and happiness and love. How she feels like she's finally where she belongs, surrounded by love.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m happy.”

“Because I still have a gun.” She can’t help it, she bursts into laughter. “I still know how to shoot, you know. I’m not _that_ old.”

“Dad, please don’t shoot my husband.” The words come out like second nature, like breathing. It’s as effortless as breathing, too. Her husband. Barry Allen. She’s married to her best friend.

“Fine. But if he takes so much as one toe out of line …”

“Please don’t harm my husband in any way, Dad.”

His brown eyes search hers. “And you’re really happy? He didn’t … I don’t know. Use his speedster powers to change your mind? You’re not brainwashed?”

“I’m happy, Dad.”

“Are you sure? We can still find a divorce lawyer. It’s never too late.” She grins at him. “And brainwashing, that’s gotta be a rule for divorce if I ever saw it.”

“Barry’s my best friend, Dad. And I know you have a soft spot for your adopted son, Dad, don’t lie. You’d never would have given him permission to ask me, let alone date me, if you thought otherwise. Also, brainwashing? He’s a speedster, not a telepath.”

Joe sighs, amused, but still somber. “It’s a good look, honey.”

“What is?”

“Happiness.”

She blinks at him. “Daddy?”

“I’ve never … when your mother … you weren’t … but I brought Barry home that night and … you just lit up. And now, it’s brighter, you’re brighter, you’re happier.” He shrugs, his bones creak, and he sighs tiredly. “I’m just happy you’re finally at peace, happy.”

She grips her mug, too scared to reach out to him. "But you're happy, too, right?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no to a paying job, being back on the force, but I make do here." She tries to stifle her cries. Dad's lived long enough to retire, here. Here, this Iris gets everything. "Besides," he adds. "Someone needs to make sure you two overgrown children eat something every once in a while that _isn't_ take out."

"It's healthy!"

"Really?"

"Sorta."

"Scurvy," he snorts, shaking his head. "You'll both get scurvy."

* * *

           When she goes upstairs, back to sleep, she pauses at the doorway. Barry is sleeping, snoring softly, still. Iris uses her keen eye to take in everything, again, but slowly this time. This time, she's not looking for clues, for evidence of her surroundings. This time, she's just taking it all in. She's cataloging everything about this life, everything this Iris gets and she never will. She's taking note of everything this Iris is lucky to get.

           His bright red suit is peeking out from the closet, rookie mistake Allen, she thinks, behind her (is that ... it can't be ...) wedding dress. Why would he leave his suit there? He had to have used it recently. His shoes, sneakers (so professional, Allen), are strewn everywhere, but so are hers, and more than a few of her socks. There is tablet with the CCPD logo on the sofa beside the window, charging. Her dresser has their picture, the one she took to Eddie's when she moved in. The photo she took when she moved out. But the mirror's edge has a bunch of new ones creeping around the edges, stuffed between the mirror and the frame. She wants to inspect each picture, but her mind focuses one specific one.

Their wedding picture.

Barry shifts.

           Making an executive decision, she snatches the frame and turns to run. Bathroom, she thinks, as she stumbles past their forgotten shoes and into the bathroom. She looks happy. Barry looks ecstatic. Her dress is beautiful. And yes, it is a replica of the one she mentioned, all those years ago, when she was into design and Barry wanted to go to flight school.

           Oddly, she can almost hear Barry murmuring that the dress was only beautiful because she wore it. And he looks handsome. Iris idly wonders if he was late to the wedding, because there's a bruise on his cheek and his hair is windswept. She's not even angry.

Proud.

She's so proud of him.

Iris hears a car start down in the street and she thinks, maybe now is the time for sleep.

* * *

"Iris?"

"Oh. Hey," she murmurs from the sofa, having found her own electronics and started looking things up.

           Currently, her laptop is open to CCPN's website, specifically, to an archive page of her stories. Hers. She’s a true reporter, a paid and honored reporter. They're ... they're all pretty great stories, she thinks. Only the first few seem to be fluff pieces, but she’s gotten better stories, better angles. But all she can do, all she can stare at is the back button, edged away by the ten pages you _can_ go back to, given she's written so much.

"... Iris?"

"Yeah?" she hums, resolutely not looking at Barry.

           It had been okay, when she had thought they were sharing a bed, sharing like they had, all those years ago, innocently. She thought, for a second, that it was a bad dream, another bad dream. But now, this is ... this Iris' husband. This isn't even her best friend. And he's awake.

"Have you gone back to sleep yet?"

Her grip on her laptop tightens. "Uh, no?"

"Why? Was it ... are you ... can I help?" he asks, floundering. Vaguely, she tries not to think about the ache in her heart, how it was always there. This Iris gets everything past Iris wanted, before all this ... mess. She hadn't even known there was a mess. "Or ... not."

"Barry, I'm not your Iris." Because it's always best to go with the truth. Even if no one else believes that. "I'm ... I'm just not her."

"What? Of course you are. I ... Wait. Like, time travel not my Iris or ..." she nods. "Oh. Oh god. Um. Okay. What ... well, what do you remember last?"

* * *

Dr. Hunter frowns, takes her temperature, and scolds a child behind him. "No, Rani, please."

"But Boppy ..."

"I can see some semblance to ..." He starts to tell them, before he twists around. His hand reaches to grab the girl’s own, and he sighs tiredly. "No, that's corrosive. Grab the blue one."

"Can it paint pretty?"

"Ask your uncle."

"UNCLE THEO!" she hollers, startling Iris. Barry laughs, soft and under his breath. She glares at him.

Sorry, he mouths.

Dr. Hunter hands her a pebble. It's grey and smooth, feels old. "Does it hurt?"

It burns.

"Yes."

He pulls it off her. Her hand is fine. "Congrats, you're a speedster."

"And pregnant," someone calls out. "With twins."

Iris whips around to meet the voice, someone dressed in bright yellow and blue. "Sorry, it was ... sorry. Seen Rani around?"

"I'll stab you in your sleep," she mutters, glaring at him. He laughs.

"Yeah, probably." He seems too pretty to exist, but Iris assumes, somehow, that he must be a cape. Capes are like that … she thinks.

"She's with Ted. Please keep an eye on them. She’s thinking of painting."

"Ooh, paint. Is it deadly?"

"Not today."

"Wonderful." He salutes them, before disappearing.

"I apologize for him. Sadly, this place is more of a daycare than I'd like."

Barry leans into her, his arm pressing against her shoulder. "But she's fine?"

"She will be, as soon as she wakes up in her universe. She'll just have to sleep." He glances at her. "You haven't, yet, have you?"

It's soft and kind and Iris wants to cry at the words. "No."

"There's no other way."

"Please."

He looks uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. The best I can do is try to ... you can remember this, for a while, but you'll forget. The timeline will reset it."

"Please," she says again, shaking. "This world has my father. Please, don't make me ... it's not the same ... please."

Barry stills her. "Don't lose control, Iris."

"What?"

"Focus," he murmurs, pleads.

"I am," she mutters, and the world stills.

"No. I can't sleep, Barry, I can't." And she knows she's sobbing, she knows it. She can't find it in herself to care. "Please. I can't leave this place. It's so ..."

Barry pulls her close, hands closing in on her face, tugging her to meet his gaze. "Look at me, Iris. No matter what, no matter the universe, we will always end up here."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Don't worry. Just remind your Barry how lost he is without you."

"And if he isn't?"

He laughs, low and soft. "Trust me, he's a fish on land." He looks away. "Just between us?"

She nods. "Yeah," she croaks out.

He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, to her nose. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"No matter what," he reminds her, as she closes her eyes.

* * *

Barry grips her tightly. "You were ... comas are so not invited in our houses again."

Laughter gurgles up from her dry throat. "Barry."

"Iris, I was so ..."

And of course, the doctors rush in.

 

"So when were you going to tell me?" she asks, as soon as they allow visitors, as soon as she says goodnight to her dad. She needs to get this out before she forgets, if she forgets.

He glances up. "Tell ... you ...?"

"That red was your color."

He flushes. "I don't ..."

"That you have the need for speed."

"Iris."

"You're right. That sounds like you have an addiction to illegal narcotics."

"That's ..."

"How about ... you like running?"

"Not ... as ..."

"You're the hope of this city?"

He's pulling her into a hug, the air is sharp and his eyes are bright yellow with the electricity and his face is so close. "No, that's your job."

"And yours?"

"To help keep hope safe."

"You're a nerd," she teases, before pulling him in for a kiss. " _Such_ a nerd."

He smile lopsidedly. "I'm your nerd, though," he sighs, forehead pressed against her.

A nurse stumbles in. "Your heart monitor went ... Maybe you shouldn't do that in the hospital."

Barry turning as red as a tomato? Totally worth the nurse's lecture.

* * *

           And he's right, she thinks, as she touches the ring on her finger, the one Barry had picked out for her. She thinks back to the lake, where he had stammered and almost dropped the box into the lake. They would always end up there, back at her childhood house, married, Joe retiring to the not-a-guest-room room on the first floor, because stairs were a problem, post actual retirement. She would get that job, become a respected reporter. He would be director of C.C.P.D.'s C.S.I. Division.

Future Barry was right.

Also, past Barry, total fish on land.

Just saying.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm half sure this fits into that one universe I'm trying to make where Iris develops speedster powers, but I never could decide when that happened. Either way, she gets speedster powers, eventually, post coma (thanks to the coma?).  
> Anyway, in the future, she sparks Lois Lane's interest when she covers the Jarvis Kord vs. Theodore Kord debacle, following Jarvis' heavy-handed assassination attempt at a K.O.R.D. Industries press conference, resulting in the death of one Dr. Daniel Garrett. I still haven't decided if it's really Jarvis who attacks her in anger and causes the coma, or if it's another person seeking revenge against her.  
> And Wally was supposed to show up but .... didn't? He's filling in for his uncle, who's almost always at Iris' bedside. Crime never stops and all that, I guess.


End file.
